There is no change without change - Rita P Mitchell

Working in crisis mental health, I meet people daily experiencing what we call a "situational crisis". This refers to circumstances where life situations have led to suicidal ideation (sometimes attempts), severe anxiety (to the point of dysfunction), or even psychosis. Sometimes we see the same people intermittently for years while they continue experiencing these situations. Medication can only do so much, especially when mental health crises are reactions to life circumstances. While medication can help someone manage a breakup, financial loss, or grief, it can't lift someone out of poverty or remove them from an abusive relationship.

Recently, I remarked to a colleague that a person's mental health would never truly improve until they made some life changes. She replied sarcastically, "Yeah, because it's so easy to do that." This conversation has replayed in my head because: a) I never said it would be easy, b) I've experienced many of the same challenges as that client, and c) I hope she didn't think I was judging this person. I'm not, and I'm definitely not victim-blaming. Changing circumstances isn't solely one person's responsibility. An abusive partner, job loss, children's issues - none of these are their fault. However, in a world moving further right, with domestic violence rates soaring and the wealth gap widening, unfortunately, government support is limited and many people are isolated.

My own story begins with intergenerational trauma. My mother was removed from her parents as a child due to violence and homelessness. She remembers being in a 'children's home' and meeting her adoptive parents. This caused incredible attachment problems that profoundly affected me. My mother never played with us. I grew up terrified of doing anything that would cause her to withdraw affection. She was the primary reason I masked my ADHD and autism, with childhood memories filled with phrases like "be normal", "stop acting like that", "just put up with it". I was constantly compared to my visibly autistic sister: "you need to be a good girl because I can't deal with both of you doing things like that". My mother missed her vital attachment years - this wasn't her fault.

My father provided wonderful attachment until he developed psychosis, left us, attempted to end his life, and became a fortnightly presence. I often felt blamed for my mother's single parenthood status, that we were a burden. I vividly remember missing my father and visiting him on the psychiatric ward, terrified of the 'scary people' (something that wouldn't happen now). We weren't told why he was there, only that he'd broken plates at work - despite his body being covered in bandages. My father was mentally ill - this wasn't his fault.

Poverty marked my childhood. I was often sent to pawn shops or secondhand bookshops to sell things so my mother could feed us. We ate stew so frequently that I still can't face slow-cooked meat. Birthday parties were out of reach - attending or hosting. My mother kept us clothed and housed, working full-time despite leaving school without qualifications, limiting her earning potential. This wasn't her fault.

Growing up with severe ADHD and Level 2 autism, but no knowledge of it, I did everything possible to make my parents like me (not understanding why my father left). I tried to make the whole world like me, but they never did, and I never knew why. This is not my fault.

I developed chronic suicidal ideation which persisted until my ADHD diagnosis at 41. I couldn't understand why I couldn't behave like others, control myself, manage money, or accomplish things others could. These struggles, combined with my upbringing, led me into one abusive relationship after another. How could I know what healthy attachment looked like? Not my fault.

I fled my marriage one night while my husband was out, baby on hip, belongings in garbage bags, going into hiding. I was a single mother for years before unfortunately entering another bad relationship. My son hasn't had contact with his father for over four years. Child support barely covers my weekly petrol. I'm a full-time single parent without parental support - handling not just the physical responsibilities but all the emotional labour. I'm the only one worrying about test results, nutrition, and my son's future. Not my fault.

The subsequent relationship, while better than my marriage (key word "compared"), was still abusive. My son, also AuDHD, has been traumatised by my relationship problems - not his fault. I've worked tirelessly to provide him with secure attachment and heal his trauma. Success so far, but it hasn't been easy. I had to remove us from these situations, living paycheck to paycheck. I worked full-time in jobs that completely burnt me out (remember, undiagnosed) and worsened my mental health just to keep us housed. Not our fault.

The last relationship ended on 12/3/23. I was in shock for about six months. We had to flee our house and weren't welcome back despite having nowhere to go. Refuges aren't an option with a teenage son. I was forced into a small granny flat to maintain my son's schooling - three windows, no privacy, poor power, a kitchenette, inadequate bathroom. During the rental crisis, it was all I could secure. Not my fault.

During this period, I kept going, but struggled to find reasons to live. Being forced to start over in my mid-40s was humiliating. I lost almost all our friends and had to seek help from services and others. As a social worker, this was especially difficult. But I knew change was the only way forward. I worked hard, applied for a personal regrade (while searching for higher-paying jobs), all while working full-time and single parenting. I spent 18 months in a legal battle with my ex, eventually settling for less than I deserved to avoid mounting legal fees. During this time, I received my formal autism diagnosis (a process begun before the split) and entered early perimenopause (likely stress-induced). Not my fault.

Last month, my son and I moved into a new flat. The rent makes me feel ill and angry, but I must stay near his school as he enters Year 11. His education, friendships, and mental health take priority over my savings. He's learning independence, socialising, and can manage his school commute (crucial for my work schedule).

I have plenty of reasons to say it's all too hard and give up. My life has been a dumpster fire (you've only read the highlights), but I've emerged through change. Perhaps it's my ADHD, but I tire of sitting in my own difficulties, of hearing myself complain, of waiting for rescue. No one has saved me, no medication has fixed my life (and I've tried most), but what has helped is rising each day and focusing on my son. Setting small fitness goals helps me move forward. Lifting weights at the gym builds physical strength and mental resilience. Each time I increase my weight, my confidence grows, and I think, "If I can do that, I can keep showing up for myself and my son."

So I stand by what I said: sometimes the only thing that changes your life is making changes. Sometimes, it's just about daring to believe your life can be better because once you see that possibility, you start noticing opportunities. It's still incredibly difficult - but so is living with the alternative.

These are my words and story but AI edited my grammar and spelling.

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